Cookie Cutter Catastrophe
by Loads of Randomness
Summary: Based off Atojiso's December 2017 6th Writing Prompt: #Cosy – Who cares if it's (nuclear) winter? We've got ourselves a nice little cosy catastrophe. An extension of Chapter 6 of 'The Meaning of Christmas' where Ziva and Tony really want cookies but, of course, nothing is ever simple with these two, is it?
1. An Attempt at Cosy

**AN: /u/Bohogal1998 wanted to see Chapter 6 extended and I can't seem to resist these two in the kitchen so this short fic is the result. This chapter is just a longer version of the original Chapter 6.**

"I just don't understand it," Tony said, gaping at Ziva's oven, looking utterly bewildered.

Tony had persuaded her that the best way to finish off a day of ice-skating was baking cookies. A proper American winter tradition apparently no matter what your religion was. She'd agreed because it was _freezing_, abominably so, and, to be honest, baking cookies in the nice, warm indoor sounded good. Very good.

She was now regretting that.

"I _told _you to stay away from the oven!" she scolded.

Honestly, her partner was like a small child sometimes (read – a lot of the time), especially around things with knobs and buttons. He wanted to try them all. Ok, he wasn't _quite _that bad but he did want to be involved in every step of the process, always had to know what was going on. It made him an excellent agent but an annoying baking partner. He was never allowed anywhere near her when she was making challah.

"I only turned it up a little," Tony complained. "I know better than to double the temperature or something stupid like that. Movies taught me _something_."

She did not know what that meant but she shook her head and rolled her eyes anyway. She was actually impressed, if annoyed, she wasn't aware that cookie dough could _explode _like this. It was not going to be fun to clean up. She couldn't even see properly into her oven; it was that coated in cookie dough. Had they even used that much dough in the first place?

She was pretty sure that something was still _bubbling _in there. There were definitely suspicious noises coming from in there.

"Is it safe to open?" Tony asked in a loud whisper.

An unimpressed look was directed at him. There was only the two of them in here, why was he whispering?

"You heard those noises!" he said defensively in response to her look. "I don't want to end up with scalding cookie dough exploding onto my face if we open the oven!"

"I turned it off," she pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

That was the logical thing to do, was it not? She had turned it off as soon as she could get herself to the oven when they heard the BANG that came from it.

"That doesn't stop anything cooking. It's still warm in there," Tony argued.

"I know that."

She did know how ovens worked after all. Apparently, her partner did not. This was all his fault in the first place. Why he thought adjusting the temperature was a good idea, Ziva would never know. Scientific curiosity was more Abby's thing.

Ziva tapped her foot impatiently as Tony continued to give her oven suspicious looks. They would have to open the door at some point and she needed to know what mess she was dealing with.

"Are you sure it's off?" he queried, eyes narrowing at her.

It wasn't intimidating in the slightest. It was actually kind of funny and she would have been amused if she wasn't so annoyed.

"_Yes_," she replied in exasperation and pointed at the knob. "See? That is at zero. That means that it is off."

She allowed a little bit of sarcasm to creep into her tone. Tony took no heed of it as he pressed his ear against the oven door.

"Maybe we should turn it off at the mains," he wondered out loud, looking around her kitchen for a means to do that.

"No."

"But Ziva-"

"No."

He was definitely _not _going to turn her oven off at the mains. It messed with the settings on in in particular – the time. It would literally not let you set a timer if it was even slightly out of sync. An annoying feature? Yes. But she had to put up with it.

Tony grumbled at her. "If this cookie dough burns my face off it's going to be all your fault."

She gave him another eyeroll for his dramatics. They really weren't needed here; it wasn't like they were dealing with a bomb. She told Tony that.

"It could act like one. Who knows what state this cookie dough is in?" he said stubbornly.

With a sigh, Ziva grabbed the blindfold Tony had used on her earlier to repurpose it as an oven mitt. The oven door was tugged open, both of them choking on the dark smoke that billowed out of it.

Burnt cinnamon and sugar was _not _a good smell.

Ziva stumbled over to her window to open it, hoping to clear the air – which it did. Slowly. The smoke was awfully thick. What had happened in there? Tony was coughing violently, doubled over. It sounded like he was gagging. Ziva hovered anxiously over him, knowing that this could not be good for his compromised lungs.

"I'm ok," he coughed out weakly, waving her off.

That wasn't exactly the most convincing argument in his favour. Especially since he coughed again. At least the smoke was clearing, she could see her kitchen again. Ziva couldn't help but be impressed that her oven appeared to be in one piece. She half expected the door to fall off its hinges. She took some hesitant steps forward, not really wanting to discover that the dough acted like Tony thought it would.

Thankfully, dough exploding out of a previously confined space when the pressure was released only seemed to be a creation of an overactive imagination. If anything, it sort of oozed out and not even that fast. She caught the dripping dough on her finger before it dropped on the floor.

"You can eat that," Tony told her, popping up beside her – apparently deeming the appliance safe.

Ziva looked down at the very obviously uncooked dough on her finger and raised her eyebrows. She knew people at this raw cookie dough but she never saw the attraction of it. Cookie dough was meant to be _baked _after all.

"I am okay."

The smell of it kind of turned her a bit. Now that they were close to the oven, burnt sugary smells were not the only smell coming from it. They were definitely the overwhelming smell but not the only. The acrid smell of the smoke was still hanging around and whatever the heat had done had probably scorched

Tony poked his head _into _the oven and took stock of the damage.

"There's nothing broken," he informed her in an oddly echo-y tone, not coming out of it. "Trays are still in one place," he pulled his head out and coughed before turning back to her. "There's cookie dough everywhere though."

"You did not need to stick your head in the oven to know that," she replied in exasperation.

"Just making sure it hadn't fried your oven," he retorted. "We don't know what cookie dough explosions could do."

"Make a big mess," Ziva said matter-of-factly, she really wanted to tidy it up.

Tony hummed non-committedly at her and reached out to poke some of the inexplicably still oozing cookie dough. He promptly yelped before she could swat his hands away. What had she said about her partner being like a child?

"Hot!"


	2. Baking Take Two

Finally, they finished their current case (a happy ending too, perfect for the season) and actually managed to wrangle a few days off, the Director being sympathetic to their plight and ensured that they _weren't_ on rotation this weekend. Wonders would never cease. Tony never ever took the glorious feeling sleeping in one's own bed for granted. Why they always got thrust into the most back-cracking of safe houses, motels and hotels, he'd never know. He supposed it was due to the budget. It was _always_ due to the budget. Stupid budget

One night in his bed and Tony was feeling well rested and refreshed. Ready to take on the world as an actual functioning human being, always a nice thing to be.

So, of course, the first thing he decided to do - after actually cleaning his apartment for the first time in two weeks - was go to Ziva's. It ended up being a little later than he wanted, after lunch, but that stove of his _had_ to be clean. He shuddered in remembrance. That had been just _nasty_. From now on spilled oil was getting cleaned no matter what.

He rapped on her apartment door, hoping she was in - he hadn't called or texted in advance. Thankfully, the door opened not too long after his knocking.

"Tony?" she asked in surprise.

"Hi," he replied and waved slightly.

"What are you doing here?"

His face fell. That was a very suspicious tone. "You aren't busy, are you?"

She shook her head. "No."

"I was thinking we could have a redo of the other day," he said hopefully.

That immediately put a suspicious look on her face.

"I just got that burnt smell out of my kitchen," she told him, folding her arms. "It is not a very pleasant smell."

He scrunched his nose up in sympathy. "It really isn't."

"The why do you think doing that again would be a good idea?" Ziva demanded.

"To prove that we can actually cook them?"

Come on, they were federal agents! Girl Scouts could do this no problem so they should have, like, negative issues.

Ziva did not look too impressed. In fact, she looked downright unconvinced, which was even worse.

"I won't make them explode this time," he wheedled.

All that managed to do was make Ziva look at him with even _more_ suspicion. Impressive, he didn't think that that was possible. Ok, it had been _awful_ scraping bits of burnt cookie and raw dough from her oven. Especially since only one of them could stick their head in the oven at a time to get it done. They had actually set a timer so they could divide the task up fairly and give one another the chance to straighten out their backs. He could still smell burnt sugar if he thought about it too much. But this time it was going to be different!

"You will not be allowed anywhere _near_ my oven this time," Ziva said threateningly.

Tony supposed that he should be scared but he'd taken notice of the wording of her reply. 'This time' she had said which meant that she wanted to bake cookies with him again! He resisted his urge to cheer, instead flashing her a charming grin. She rolled her eyes at him but opened the door to her apartment wider to let him in. He all but skipped in. He heard Ziva sigh in fond exasperation (well, he hoped it was fond) as she closed the door. He didn't care, they were actually going to get to _eat_ cookies today. Do you know how awful it is to be all ready for cookies only to have them explode in the oven, having no time to make a proper batch and hen not even being home for the next four days to do a redo? Trust him, it is truly awful and should really be a crime.

"I brought white chocolate chips," he announced, waving the bag in the air as he made his way towards her kitchen.

Ziva snatched them out of his hands. "You should have opened with that," she informed him, giving the bag a longing look.

Hmm, white chocolate and the ninja. He would never have guessed, Tony thought that she'd be a dark chocolate gal; all aloof and acquired taste.

"It is perfect with cranberries," she added.

Ah, that made sense. If there was one thing Ziva David loved as much as mangos, it was cranberries. Apparently, they were a lot easier to get in the US.

"We could make some cookies with those in them as well," he suggested doubtfully, not convinced that anything except for chocolate made a good cookie.

Ziva scrunched up her nose. "Let's not get _too_ adventurous."

That was a fair point. They hadn't managed to do the simplest of cookies yet.

It didn't take them long to whip up a batch, even with extremely careful measuring. They probably put in way too many chocolate chips but hey, you measure those things with your heart not the instructions. Speaking of instructions, they were so focused on following them properly that neither of them stole any of the chocolate chips. Strange. They shoved the tray in the oven and Ziva pointedly pushed him out of the way as she adjusted the temperature. This is where it all went wrong last time.

"You, go into the living room," she instructed, chivvying him out the door.

"Hey!"

"This way there will be no temptation to change the temperature."

Tony pouted at her but sighed in acquiescence. She did have a point; it was _technically_ his fault that the cookies were a disaster the last time. If you could even call the exploded dough cookies...

She followed him into her living room and sat on the couch.

"Hey, someone should be looking after the cookies!" he exclaimed. They couldn't go wrong now!

Ziva waved a hand at him. "I have set a timer."

"For the _right_ time?"

"Yes."

"Are you _sure_?"

"_Yes_."

"Swear on your life sure?"

_"Tony."_

He supposed they were okay then. They would hopefully be able to smell burning before something caught on fire anyway.

* * *

'Ding ding' Ziva's timer politely went. Huh, he thought it would sound dangerous and scream at you or something.

"They're ready!" Tony said needlessly, jumping up from her couch. "Let's go!"

"They aren't going anywhere," Ziva replied, amused at his antics.

"Except in my stomach."

Rolling her eyes, she followed him in, her stomach rumbling. She _was_ looking forward to them. Though, it looked like she was going to have a struggle to get at one.

"This is what Christmas is about, Ziva," Tony called, sounding excited. "Just need a cold glass of milk each and it will be perfect."

Ziva raised her eyebrows at that, though her partner couldn't see it. Americans had some strange eating habits.

"I'll get that," she replied, hearing him open her oven. "The oven mitts are by the-"

'CRASH!"

"Owww!"

Instincts took over and Ziva sprinted into the kitchen. What on earth _happened_? She burst into the kitchen to find her partner clutching at his hand and one of the trays of cookies upended on the floor, broken cookies _everywhere_.

"They're _hot_," Tony wailed, holding his hand out to her. It was a livid red.

A quick flick of the wrist turned her oven off to prevent any further accidents (why he hadn't done that in the first place, she'd never know) and shoved him over to her sink. Pulling his hand under the faucet, she turned the water on full blast.

"Ten minutes," she instructed.

He tried to pull his hand back, she glared at him.

"It's cooooold," he complained.

Another glare quelled that.

"Ten minutes."

Mercifully, he did as he was told and she felt that she could stop restraining him.

"I am going to tidy it up," she informed him.

"Aww," Tony twisting around to stare dolefully at the mess on the floor. "We lost the cookies."

"And made a mess," Ziva observed, looking at her floor in dismay. There were crumbs _everywhere_.

Why was her kitchen the scene for so many disasters in recent days?

"Priorities, Ziva."

"We have other trays," she pointed out, gesturing to her oven. "And put your hand back in the water," she added, realising that his hand was no longer under the water.

"Any loss of cookies is a tragedy," he informed her quite seriously. "And I'm fine, it was just my fingertips."

"Give them a good burial then," she instructed, shoving a brush and dustpan at him.

"But, the other cookies-"

"I will get them," she interrupted, holding her hand up. "Since you seem to be incapable."

Tony huffed at her.

"_Clean_, Tony. And then cookies."

* * *

She got the rest of them out without any further losses, much to Tony's delight. She'd had to physically restrain him from grabbing at one. They were still hot and Ziva didn't trust him not to burn himself.

"We have so many," Ziva observed, looking around her counters, they were basically covered. "We could bring some into work to share."

Tony protectively pulled the plate of cookies closer to him. "Our cookies," he declared, hugging them close to his chest.


	3. Giving of Cookies

Ziva got her way and they packaged up a god portion of the cookies to take into work. Tony as determined to get his share of those ones too, the handfuls he'd had at Ziva's really wasn't enough. They were just too delicious. They made a good team in the kitchen. Obviously, it wasn't exactly a surprise. They _were _a good team. In _any _activity they put their mind to.

A rustling noise caught his attention.

"No! Don't take those ones in! Those are the big ones!" Tony complained, reaching over to snatch the plate away from his partner.

They were the extra gooey ones too.

* * *

"No!"

"_Tony_."

His voice turned to a whine as he clung onto the Tupperware (who knew ninjas had Tupperware?). "_No!"_

Ziva made an exasperated noise at the back of her throat.

"Tony, these are not the big ones. These are the small ones. We can share these ones, yes?"

"But these taste good too," he said with a pout.

The exasperated noise turned into a faint growl. He flinched at it but stubbornly hung onto the Tupperware. He was not going to let these ones go as well!

"They _all _taste good," Ziva informed him, doing a ninja move to grab the box he was holding. How did she manage that? She gave a tug. "Give me the box, Tony."

"No, you're going to put the cookies in it."

"That is the whole point to _sharing _cookies."

* * *

Ziva sighed heavily, so heavy it could be called a groan, as she looked up from her splayed position across the table.

"We have to bring some cookies in Tony," she told him.

They had been having the same circular argument for twenty minutes.

"No, we don't."

And there was the same answer she had been getting this entire time. She took a deep breath. Gibbs would not appreciate the loss of his second in command. It would get far too quiet, they needed Tony to balance out everyone's more silent tendencies.

"Yes, we do," she responded firmly, carefully avoiding those pleading green eyes.

Those things should be listed under Biological Warfare.

* * *

"Ok, we can give them _those _ones," Tony acquiesced, waving his hand to a tray by the sink.

Ziva gave him an unimpressed look. He didn't know why, he was being very generous. There were quite a lot there, enough to satisfy even the hungriest of McNutter Butters. On a three-day case day!

"We are not giving them the burnt ones."

"They aren't _that _burnt."

Maintaining her unimpressed look, Ziva reached across to grabbed one of the "burnt" ones. She tapped it three times of the counter and it racked into five pieces. He winced. That did _not _help his case at all.

"That was just the exception…"

Strange enough, that didn't alter her expression.

* * *

"Ziver did all the baking, didn't she?" Gibbs teased, taking a bite out of a cookie.

"I can bake," Tony grumbled and then absent-mindedly added, "_without_ blowing things up."

Gibbs blinked at him, unsure how to take that. Realising what he had said, Tony straightened up and smiled charmingly. That just got him a suspicious look from his boss.

"We baked them _together_," Tony informed the whole team.

McGee dropped his cookie and gave the plate an apprehensive look.

"They are cooked, aren't they?" he checked. "We're not going to be poisoned?"

Tony tutted at the younger man and shook his head to show he was hurt. McGee didn't buy it a poked his cookie.

"It looks okay," he announced.

"These ones are edible," Ziva tried to assure him.

Of course, that didn't assure the man at all as he was now looking at the pile of cookies with distrust written all over his features. Ziva glared at him. Tony had to chuckle; what did McGee think they'd do? Poison the damn things? That wasn't Ziva's style.

"That implies that some _weren't _edible."

"There were… some causalities," Ziva reluctantly admitted.

Tony would find her expression far more amusing if they weren't giving up precious cookies. That they weren't even _eating._ He had told Ziva that they wouldn't appreciate them.

"Just burnt ones," Tony added with a sigh as he noticed McGee's panicked look.

The man's whole demeanour relaxed. "Oh."

Tony rolled his eyes. And he was supposed to be the dramatic one?

"I was expecting tales of explosions," McGee informed them.

Tony and Ziva caught each other's eyes before quickly averting their gaze. They weren't going to admit to anything of the sort.

"Just some miscalculation on our parts," Ziva replied.

"Tony turned up the temperature, didn't he?"

"Hey! It could have been Ziva!"

McGee shot him a look. "You're more impatient."

"Who was the person who _stabbed _her computer when it was loading too slowly?"

McGee winced at the memory. Ziva had been very… temperamental that day. Tony had just been impressed that she hadn't wrecked the machine. The knife had been thrust in pretty deep.

"Good point…"

Ziva was now glaring at both of them.

"But Ziva actually likes cooking," he amended quickly.

"I like cooking as well!"

"Yes, pasta."

"Still counts as cooking."

"We're talking about cookies here."

Nice cookies, Ziver, DiNozzo," Gibbs complimented, interrupting their bickering as he swallowed the last piece of a different cookie that he had first grabbed and brushed crumbs off his face.

Tony gaped at him. When did he grab another cookie and did the Bossman just compliment them? On their _baking? _Ziva looked pleased with herself, heck, Tony was feeling pretty chuffed himself. Until he noticed that the man was reaching for another cookie.

"It's the cinnamon," Ziva told him, holding the container up for Gibbs and McGee.

* * *

"We should have given them the burnt ones," he grumbled, folding his arms.

He couldn't believe that they ate them all. He knew that they'd been far too generous. Ziva patted his cheek and gave him a patronising smile.

"We can always make more, Tony."

He perked up at that. "Really?"

He hadn't thought she'd want to be anywhere near him in a kitchen after these last two times.

She shrugged at him, smiling. "Sure. It was fun."

And maybe this time, they could keep _all _of the cookies.


End file.
